_Mart._ A desire Sir, Upon the gilded flag your Graces favor Has stuck up for a Generall, and to inform you, For this hour he shall pass the test, what valour, Staid judgement, soul, or safe discretion Your mothers wandring eyes, and your obedience Have flung upon us, to assure your knowledge, He can be, dare be, shall be, must be nothing, Load him with piles of honors; Set him off With all the cunning foyls that may deceive us: But a poor, cold, unspirited, unmanner'd, Unhonest, unaffected, undone, fool, And most unheard of coward, a meer lump Made to loade beds withall, and like a night-mare, Ride Ladies that forget to say their prayers, One that dares only be diseas'd, and in debt, Whose body mewes more plaisters every month, Than women doe old faces. _Thier._ No more, I know him, I now repent my error, take your time And try him home, ever thus far reserv'd, You tie your anger up. _Mart._ I lost it else Sir. _Thier._ Bring me his sword fair taken without violence, For that will best declare him. _Theod._ That's the thing. _Th[ie]r._ And my best horse is thine. _Mart._ Your Graces servant. [_Exit._ _Theod._ [You'le] hunt no more Sir. _Thier._ Not to day, the weather Is grown too warm, besides the dogs are spent, We'll take a cooler morning, let's to horse, And hollow in the troop. [_Exeunt. Wind horns._ _Enter 2 Huntsmen._ _1._ I marry Twainer, This woman gives indeed, these are the Angels That are the keepers saints. _2._ I like a woman That handles the deers dowsets with discretion; And payes us by proportion. _1._ 'Tis no treason To think this good old Lady has a stump yet That may require a corrall. _2._ And the bells too. _Enter Protaldye._ Shee has lost a friend of me else, but here's the clark, No more for feare o'th' bell ropes. _Prota._ How now Keepers, Saw you the King? _1._ Yes Sir, he's newly mounted, And as we take 't ridden home. _Pro._ Farew[e]ll then. [_Exit Keepers._ _Enter Martell._ My honour'd Lord, Fortune has made me happy To meet with such a man of men to side me. _Protald._ How Sir? I know ye not Nor what your fortune means. _Mart._ Few words shall serve, I am betrai'd Sir: Innocent and honest; malice and violence, Are both against me, basely and foully layd for; For my life Sir, danger is now about me, Now in my throat Sir. _Protald._ Where Sir? _Mart._ Nay I fear not, And let it now powr down in storms upon me, I have met with a noble guard. _Prot._ Your meaning Sir, For I have present business.